


That Should Be Enough

by somethingcorporate



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Explicit Consent, F/F, Femslash, ace!joan, joaniarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingcorporate/pseuds/somethingcorporate
Summary: Joan and Moriarty are in the heat of the moment, when Joan freezes. Then it's up to Moriarty to convince Joan that she's in it for more than just the sex.





	That Should Be Enough

Well. This was an unusual scene. 

While Moriarty usually delighted in surprises, even she was struck by the situation at hand…Joan, writhing beneath her just moments before, now sitting up on the hotel bed with her knees tucked in, her head ducked to the side as she watched the floor. 

Moriarty, for her part, was lying on her side, propped up an elbow that rested on her plain white pillow. Her finely tailored white pants were unzipped and her pale pink camisole was untucked, a strap fallen to the side to reveal a creamy pale shoulder. Her nude lipstick was still, miraculously, perfect, but her mascara was smeared slightly – evidence of just how close they’d been a couple minutes before.

It had all been very by the book until then. Moriarty had been on top of her prey, planting kisses and love bites along Joan’s jaw and the underside of her neck, as Joan arched upward, her breasts pressing against the black lace bra that would soon be discarded. Wanting – needing – just that, Moriarty moved her fingers from Joan’s wrist, which she had playfully (possessively) held above Joan’s head, and slid them to beneath Joan’s thin frame, to unclasp the flimsy piece of fabric.

But the moment Joan felt her hands, she froze. She let out a surprised gasp that then repeated itself in quiet, shallow bursts, and her small frame began to shake almost imperceptibly.

Moriarty had moved so that she was above Joan, looking at her suddenly-and-unnaturally pale face. “I’ve disturbed you,” she’d said quietly, a hint of a question on her tongue. Joan had looked back at her with an almost-vacant stare. 

With furrowed eyebrows, the cogs in Moriarty’s brain worked at brilliant speed. “I’m here,” she’d said, slipping her fingers from beneath Joan’s back to run them along her jaw, “I’m right here.” She’d placed a very gentle kiss on Joan’s cheek, watching as the woman closed her eyes. Then Joan took a deep breath, sat up, and moved to the far side of the bed.

And there they were. 

Quiet. 

Uncertain.

After the silence peeled on, Moriarty tried again. “You’ve been hurt,” she said.

Joan took a deep breath and leaned her head back against the wall. “No. It’s not that.”

“Alright,” Moriarty said, her voice low, careful. She didn’t press. They lapsed into silence once more. Minutes ticked by until the silence began to make its own noise. Then, Joan spoke again.

“I’m…sometimes, I’m okay. I don’t mind it. Being touched, I mean. Other times, it…catches me off guard.”

“Did you feel unsafe?” Moriarty ventured.

“No,” Joan said quickly. “I felt…silly.”

“Because you should’ve wanted me to touch you. I mean,” Moriarty waved her hand dismissively, “I don’t expect you to want anything. But that is the usual expectation, I presume.”

Joan looked at her and smiled and then shook her head as she brought her hand up to cover the top half of her face. “I’m…weird, I know. It’s stupid.”

Moriarty lifted a hand toward Joan, and then hesitated. “May I?” When Joan moved her hand to see to what Moriarty was referring, she nodded, and Moriarty began to trace circles on Joan’s lower back, the closest part of her she could reach from her position. “You are guarded,” she continued. “You like to be in control of your body, and you dislike moving too quickly. Sometimes, your body knows that before you do. And you react accordingly. With surprise, I mean.” Moriarty read her, her senses working in overdrive to try to understand, to accommodate.

“Yes, sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“Other times, I just…sometimes I don’t want it at all. The…” Joan waved a hand vaguely between them. “The sex. At all. With anyone, I mean. I like the touching, the kissing, but the rest, a lot of times, is just…not what I want. A lot of…people…don’t really understand that.” Joan finished with a loose breath.

“They react poorly,” Moriarty said, an imperceptible point of tension forming in her jaw.

“Something like that.”

“I don’t mind. What you want, or what you don’t want. We can do, or not do, whatever you like.”

Joan looked at her quickly and laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re a murderer.” Joan said matter-of-factly. She shook her head again and stood, retrieving her discarded shirt from the floor. “And a criminal.” She adjusted her jeans and sat back down on the edge of the bed, returning Moriarty’s gaze, which had not changed expressions at her statements. Then, she glanced around the room at her bag, which had been unceremoniously dropped near the room’s door. Her jacket, she remembered, was in the front room, hanging on a chair by the window. She considered leaving, but that’s not what she wanted. Not yet. Moriarty watched her, following her gaze as it swept around the room, but she didn’t move. She waited. 

“It’s not a judgement-call,” Joan said finally. “I mean, not right now, anyway. The fact that I have a problem with those things is well-documented and our latest ‘argument’ over it is, somehow, exactly how we’ve ended up in this very awkward position to begin with but…” she ran a hand through her hair, working through the tangles. “The point I’m trying to make, regarding this particular situation, is that you take what you want. And if we’re looking at this from a popular-thriller-box-office-movie point-of-view, what you do is considered ‘sexy.’ Alluring. Somehow. And –,” Joan gestured toward Moriarty and her disheveled state, “You, yourself, are not an easy person to resist.”

Moriarty laughed – nearly snorted. “And because I am a sexy cartoon villain with harems of men and women, I should be expected to take advantage of my paramours at whim and throw a fit when they don’t succumb to my desires.”

Joan rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Moriarty said, her tone suddenly harder. “And I am many things, Joan. But I do not take women – or men, for that matter – against their will. Not ever.”  
“Because you don’t need to?” Joan quipped sarcastically.

“Because it is vile. And I am very quick to dispose of those who think otherwise. Especially those who unwittingly find themselves within my employ. Murder, darling, is for expedience. Business. But there is never cause for the kind of violence to which you refer, other than a sickness of mind from which I do not suffer.”

Joan looked at her with her head cocked sideways, assessing Moriarty’s words. Then she took a deep breath and looked away again, off to the side. “I…. Sure. I can believe that.” She looked at Moriarty and smiled weakly.

Moriarty smiled her own side smile and sat up. She moved to the edge of the bed so that she and Joan were sitting next to each other. She flipped her hair out of her face and then looked into Joan’s uncertain eyes.

“You are embarrassed with yourself, which you should not be. And you are disgusted with me, as you always have been. But not about this. About this,” Moriarty raised her hand, and gently touched Joan’s hair, slipping her fingers through Joan’s long black strands. “About this, you want to trust me. To believe you are safe, with me, right here. Doing nothing but this.” She leaned her forehead against Joan’s and closed her eyes. “Would it surprise you to know, Joan Watson, that I am far more fascinated by your mind, than I am your body?”

Joan wanted to sink into the intimacy that Moriarty offered, but she remained tense, their foreheads barely touching. “Yes.” Then she inhaled deeply and breathed, her shoulders dropping as she gave in. “No.”

Moriarty slipped one hand around Joan’s side, grasping her arm, while her other hand stayed buried in Joan’s hair, their foreheads still touching as they leaned into each other. “If this is what it means to know you, Joan, then this is what I want. This is enough.”

And Joan believed her. Because for all that Moriarty was, she was so much more than what others had been. At least right now. At least for this. And for Joan, right now, that was enough.


End file.
